Can't Fight This Feeling
by JitterbugCG
Summary: Sometimes you just cant fight your feelings anymore ... WendyCartman, StanKyle, CraigTweek, ButtersLexus, KennyRed, StanWendy, ClydeTweek, KennyBebe, KennyKyle, CraigClyde, MoleGregory [various pairing drabbles] please read and review!
1. Save the Whales: CartmanWendy

Author's Note: Sorry the title is so cheesy. I couldn't think of one and then I heard the Chicago song and I thought, what the hell, that could work. But anyway, this is a collection of one-shots and drabbles of various pairings. It's just going to be any pairing I think of, probably even some crack pairings (for some reason I think Cartman's mom and Mrs. Garrison would be hilarious but I can't seem to think of a good story to put that in.) They're all random and unrelated unless otherwise stated. So I hope you enjoy! Please review!

Title: Save the Whales

Pairing: Cartman/Wendy

Age: High School

The bell signaling the end of the school day startled Wendy out of her reverie, which was strange because she was usually so attentive in class. But she had a lot on her mind today. Class elections were coming up and she still needed to find someone to run with her. The stupid administration had changed the rules so the President and Vice-President had to run as a team now. It was all very frustrating, because Wendy wasn't very good at working in teams. Other people were just so incompetent.

"I've got to go to my locker, Bebe," she said to her best friend.

"'K, see ya later," the blonde responded and they parted ways.

Wendy quickly opened her locker and began her daily struggle of trying to cram all of her books into her backpack. She was taking so many AP classes, she had a good half-dozen books she had to haul to school every day. She kept them in her locker for most of the day, but every afternoon she had to carry them back home. She was so preoccupied trying to fit in her last book – AP Psych, a particularly thick tome – into her backpack that she didn't even notice Cartman sidling up next to her locker.

"Hey, Wendy," he said, leaning against the lockers. He startled her a little and she lost her grip on her bag so all her books came spilling out.

"God dammit, Cartman," she said irritably. "What the hell do you want?" She bent to pick up her books. Cartman made no move to help her; he just stood there looking amused.

"I have a proposition for you." Wendy managed to fit all the books into her backpack and she hoisted it onto her shoulders. She stood up and looked Cartman in the eye.

"_You_ have a proposition for _me_?" Her eyes narrowed. She had known Cartman since they were children, and she knew nothing good could come of anything he proposed.

"Yes, I do." He gave her a sugary smile. She crossed her arms. There was a long pause.

"Well? What is it?" Cartman seemed to take this as his cue. He clasped his hands behind his back and began pace back and forth.

"As you know, school elections are coming up. I'm sure you're planning to run." He punctuated each sentence with a pointed look at her. "I, too, am planning to run. Unfortunately I lack a person to run with." Wendy saw where this was going.

"Hell no, Cartman, I am not running with you." He seemed undaunted.

"Why not Wendy? With you as my vice-president –"

"I would be president," she interjected.

"What's that you say?"

"I would be president if we ran together. _You_ would be the vice. Hypothetically, of course," she added quickly.

"Of course, of course." He had her right where he wanted her.

"But you know, together, we could run this school."

"I can run it without your help."

"Au contraire. You have the political savvy, but I know how to make people do what I want."

"By blackmailing them? That's hardly a skill."

"Think about it Wendy –"

"No, Cartman, it's completely ridiculous. Besides, we'd kill each other in a week."

"We could call a truce. We could combine our powers and take over the world!"

"No." Wendy gave him a flat look. "Now go away, I have to go to Environmental Warriors."

"What's that, some gay little hippie club of yours?"

"We help the environment, Eric. Now move, we're making posters about saving whales and if I'm not there, I know they're going to screw it all up." She pushed her way past him and started walking quickly down the hall.

Suddenly, he was in front of her again, blocking her way.

"What the hell Cartman? I need to go."

"You know what," he said, looking her square in the eye. "I don't think you want to save the whales."

"What?"

"You don't really care about the whales, do you? You just do things like that cuz you're supposed to. Because that's who you are – Wendy the Activist, Wendy the Politician. So that when you achieve your goals like being the first female president or some gay shit like that, you can say that you're all about saving the environment and giving to the poor. But you don't give a shit about whales or poor people. You just know that by pretending you are, people will think you're all about morals and high standards. You know that people will vote for you then." Wendy took a step back and gave him a hard look.

"You're crazy, Cartman."

"You know how to work the system to get what you want. You know how to get the kind of power you want. I do too. Together we would be unstoppable. Together we really could take over the world." Paused, waiting for her reaction. She stood there for a long minute, collecting her thoughts.

"You're so full of shit," she said finally, scowling at him. "'We could take over the world,'" she imitated his voice. "That's just cheesy. Besides, I'm not dumb. And I'm not falling for you're stupid tricks." She pushed past him again, and started storming down the hallway. He just stood there leaning against the locker, watching her go.

As she walked down the hall, her pace got slower and slower, until she finally stopped. She spun around on her heels.

"Cartman!" she yelled. He looked up. She paused, as if searching for the right words. "I'll consider it." She said it softly, as if she hoped no one would hear. He smiled at her and gave her a small nod.

"'K. Well, have fun saving the whales," he said wryly. His smile deepened. He looked very self-satisfied. Wendy half wanted to slap him. Then, he simply turned and walked away.

Wendy just stood there for a long moment.

"I'm the president!" she yelled after him.


	2. Admitting When Your Wrong: StanKyle

Title: Admitting When You're Wrong

Pairing: Stan/Kyle

Age: High School

"Just admit that you're were wrong and take it back."

"No way! You admit that you're wrong!"

"No! Because I'm not!"

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not!"

Cartman and Kenny where watching Stan and Kyle fight with mild interest.

"What are those gaywads fighting about now?" Cartman asked, between bites of an enormous sandwich. Kenny just shrugged and stole some of Kyle's fries.

The next day at lunch, they were still fighting.

"Why can't you just admit you're wrong?"

"Because I'm not wrong, you are!"

"Dude, they're still going at it," Cartman said in wonderment.

"Trouble in paradise," Kenny supplied sagely, before taking a big gulp of Stan's soda. Truth be told, Kenny benefited from his friends lunch-time fights. They were too preoccupied to eat, so Kenny just cleaned their plates for them. And lately, he had been kept very well fed.

"Well, if you can't admit when you're wrong, maybe we shouldn't be together!" Kyle yelled across the table at Stan.

"Maybe we shouldn't, since you're such a stubborn asshole!" Stan countered.

"Fine!" Kyle yelled, slapping his palms down on the table. "It's over!" With that, he stood up and stormed away. Stan sat there for a moment, then he seemed to come to his senses.

"Wait! Kyle!" He stood up, but Kyle was already gone. "Dude, did he just break up with me?" Stan was incredulous.

"I think so," Kenny said as he finished off Kyle's kosher hamburger. Stan sat down and buried his head in his hands.

"Kyle just broke up with me," he murmured sadly.

"Dude, if he goes all goth again, I'm so out of here," Cartman said. Suddenly, Stan sat up quickly.

"You know what," he said wildly. "Fuck Kyle! If he can't admit when he's wrong, I don't want to be with him anyway!" And then he stormed off too.

"Gawd, I hate it when those fags do this," Cartman sighed.

"They'll be back together by tomorrow," Kenny assured him, reaching for Stan's abandoned plate.

----

But they weren't back together the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. In fact, a whole week passed and they were still fighting. At first they yelled at each other whenever they're paths crossed – telling the other to just admit he was wrong. Then came the silence, when they refused to acknowledge each other's existence.

After about a week of The Silence, Kenny decided that, despite the fact that he was being very well fed lately, enough was enough. He was going to resolve his friend's fight even if it killed him (a rather unfortunate choice of words). He tried to enlist the help of Cartman, but Cartman refused to be a part of some "faggy little lover's spat." So Kenny was on his own. He decided to start with Stan, because Stan probably needed help the most

Kenny was right. For most of the week Stan had kept up a brave face, declaring he just wanted Kyle to admit he was wrong. But Stan was not made to handle heartbreak. Kenny found Stan holed up in his room clutching a half-eaten box of Cocoa-Puffs, looking like he hadn't changed clothes in days, watching a marathon of Family Guy. Kenny sighed.

"Stan, you don't even really like Family Guy."

"Kyle does." Stan gave the blonde boy a teary look. "I don't know why. It's really not funny." Kenny crossed his arms.

"Why can't you two just make up or something?"

"Not until Kyle admits he was wrong."

"Jesus Christ, why is this such a big deal?" Suddenly Stan grabbed Kenny's shoulders and looked him square in the eye.

"Please," he said pleadingly. "I can't do this. Please just ask Kyle to admit he was wrong."

"Why can't you admit you were wrong?"

"Cuz I'm not!"

"Okay, okay, I'll ask him." Kenny gave Stan a scrutinizing look. "Stan, are you wearing eyeliner?"

----

Kenny arrived at Kyle's house to find Kyle in much better shape. He was out in his front yard playing catch with Ike.

"Hey Kenny," he said, dropping his glove. "What's up?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, come in."

They made their way to Kyle's room. Kenny sat down on the bed, and Kyle sat in the chair at his desk.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Kyle prompted, swiveling his chair around to face the other boy. Over his shoulder, Kenny could see that the screensaver on Kyle's computer was a slideshow of pictures of him and Stan.

"I talked to Stan," Kenny started slowly. "He just wants you to apologize so you two can get back together.

"_He_ wants _me_ to apologize?" Kyle asked, clearly annoyed. "He's the one who's wrong!"

"What the hell is wrong with you guys!" Kenny exclaimed exasperatedly. "Why can't you just make up and be happy?" He stood up quickly and walked towards to door shaking his head at the stupidity of his friends, but he ran into Kyle's bookcase, which promptly fell over and crushed him to death.

----

Later that evening, Kyle was sitting in his room, sadly watching his screensaver.

"_I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you, I know you were right, believing for so long."_

Kyle walked to his open window and looked out to find Stan standing down on the sidewalk, holding a boom box over his head, a piece of red cloth clutched to his chest.

_"I'm all out of love, what am I without you, I can't be too late, to say that I was so wrong."_

Kyle smiled and ran downstairs to open the door for him.

"Hey," Stan said, breathless from the cold.

"I'm glad you finally admitted you were wrong," Kyle said, leaning in the doorframe.

"What?" Stan looked confused.

"The song," Kyle prompted, "Were you listening to the lyrics?"

"No! I was just trying to be romantic! I'm not wrong, you are!" Stan said, pointing an accusatory finger at Kyle.

"You're the one who's wrong, asshole!" he yelled, slamming the door in Stan's face.

----

The next day at lunch, they were yelling at each other again. (Which was sort of an improvement over The Silence.)

Stan threw the red piece of cloth down on the table. It was a t-shirt.

"Take it," he yelled across the table at Kyle. "It's yours! You must have left it at my house!"

"It's not mine! It must be yours!"

"Fags," Cartman supplied helpfully. They both shot him dirty looks.

"Take it!"

"I don't want it, it's not mine!"

"Man, I wish Kenny was here for this," Cartman muttered to himself. (Kenny still hadn't returned from his most recent death.)

"Why can't you just admit it's yours?"

"Because it's not!"

"Hey guys," Kenny said, sitting down and reaching for Stan and Kyle's food.

"Dude, good thing you got here in time," Cartman said to him. "I think they're about to punch each other out. My money's on Stan."

"Really?" Kenny responded between bites of Stan's pizza. "I think Kyle would totally kick Stan's ass."

"Not with his weak little Jew-arms he wouldn't." Kenny shrugs and turned to look at the yelling boys.

"Hey!" he said brightly. "You found my shirt!"

"What?" Stan and Kyle asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Kenny said enthusiastically. "I think I left it at Stan's house that one time I crashed there while my parents were in jail for the night. I've been looked for it for months. Thanks a lot!" He picked up the shirt. Stan and Kyle stared at him, mouths open. Cartman was laughing uproariously.

"Man, you guys must feel stupid now!"

A/N: Yeah, I'm sure you guys probably saw the ending coming a mile away, but I hope you like it! And the song was "All Out of Love" by Air Supply. Please review!


	3. The Defender of Underpants: TweekCraig

A/N: Okay, this is more of a friendship fic I guess, cuz they're just kids, but you can take it how you want.   
Title: Craig, the Valiant Defender of Underpants 

Pairing: Craig/Tweek

Age: 8-9

"Oh, th-thank god you're here!" Tweek exclaimed. Craig was standing on his doorstep, looking confused and disgruntled.

"Why can't this wait til tomorrow? Red Racer is on," Craig grumbled.

"Th-this is WAY more important that Red Racer!" Tweek assured him, showing him in and leading him upstairs.

"So what exactly do you need my help with?" Craig asked, looking around Tweek's room expectantly.

"U-Underpants gnomes!" Tweek practically screamed. "Th-they're taking my u-underpants!"

"What?" Craig asked in a flat voice, not entirely sure if he had heard correctly.

"Th-they come at night and take my underpants! GAH! Soon I won't have any left!" Tweek was pretty much freaking out at this point. He was pulling his hair and twitching violently.

"Tweek that is the gayest, most retarded thing I've ever heard," Craig said, turning to go. "I'm going home to watch Red Racer."

"N-NO!" Tweek yelled, throwing himself down and grabbing hold of Craig's ankle. Despite being frail and kind of stunted from all the caffeine he drank, he had a strong grip. "D-don't go! I n-need your help!"

"Can't you take care of it yourself?"

"NO! It's t-too much pressure!" Craig looked down at his friend, who was rather pathetically lying on the ground, hanging on to his ankle. He sighed.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked, relenting.

"N-not long. I promise!" Tweek assured him.

"Okay, but then we have to watch Red Racer." Tweek nodded vigorously. "So what do I have to do?"

----

Craig spent the next two hours sitting on Tweek's bed, waiting for the underpants gnomes to come. He was pretty convinced that these underpants gnomes were just a figment of Tweeks over-caffinated imagination, but he decided it couldn't hurt to indulge his friend. (Although he really wished he could be watching Red Racer.) Tweek was frantically looking all around the room, as if he expected the underpants gnomes to appear any second.

"Tweek –" he began.

"Jesus Christ!" he cried, pointing at the door. "They're h-here!"

Craig whirled around. Sure enough, there was a troupe of gnomes, no more than eight inches tall, marching in single file, singing some strange song, heading straight for Tweek's dresser. Craig didn't even stop to think about how bizarre this whole experience was (he did live in South Park after all, so nothing seemed strange to him anymore).

"What are you doing?" he yelled at the gnomes. They stopped in their tracks and turned to face him.

"GAH!" Tweek cried, pulling blankets over himself.

"Collecting underpants of course," the leader supplied in a high-pitched voice.

"You can't!" Craig protested. "Those are Tweek's" (He had no idea why he was trying to argue rationally with gnomes, but he decided to try anyway.)

"How else are we going to make a profit?" the gnome asked. Craig flipped him off. The gnome flipped him off right back and continued marching towards the dresser. Craig was pissed off now. No one flips him off!

"Stay the hell away from those underpants!" he roared, grabbing a pillow off Tweek's bed. He jumped down and threw himself into the fight. He was swinging the pillow left and right, taking down the gnomes as they crossed his path. Tweek was watching him from under the blankets.

"Retreat! Retreat!" called the leader gnome frantically. The gnomes crawled away from the vicious pillow-wielding boy. Once the last one was gone, Craig dropped the pillow he had been holding.

"Jesus Christ!" Tweek exclaimed, dropping the blankets he had been huddling under. He looked up at Craig with a mixture of awe and reverence, his pale blue eyes wide as saucers. "Y-you're my hero!"

Craig was panting. He felt rather exhilarated. It wasn't every day that you kicked some underpants gnomes asses! He saw Tweek looking at him expectantly. Well, now that that was taken care of…

"Can we go watch Red Racer now?"

A/N: I absolutely adore this pairing. It's so cute! Please review! And if you have any suggestions or requests I would be more than happy to oblige.


	4. Being a Raisins Girl: ButtersLexus

A/N: This is directly referencing the episode "Raisins", so if you haven't seen that one, I recommend you do, it's very funny.

Title: The Difficulties of Being a Raisins Girl

Pairing: Butters/Lexus

Age: High School

"Hey, sweetie! Welcome to Raisins!" Lexus chirped in her most syrupy voice. "Can I get you a drink to start with?"

"Hey Lexus!" the boy seated at the table exclaimed, looking at her expectantly. He was skinny and awkward looking, with a blonde tuft of hair. "It's me, Butters!"

Lexus looked blankly back at him.

"Your ex-boyfriend," Butters continued. Lexus still wasn't remembering. "Back when we were eight?"

"Of course, sweetie," Lexus covered, pretending she remembered. Butters smiled back at her.

"It's nice to see you again," he said shyly, a blush creeping up his cheeks.

"You too, honey. Now are you ready to order?" Lexus prompted.

"Uh, I'll take some chicken wings."

"Okay, I'll have that right out for you." She gave him a winning smile, relieved him of his menu, and walked back towards the kitchen. Butters watched her walk away, sighing deeply. She was so beautiful.

----

"Hey Mercedes," Lexus said at she passed her fellow Raisins girl.

"Hmm?" Mercedes asked, balancing a platter of hot wings and a pitcher of root beer.

"See that kid over there? That dorky one in the corner?"

"Yeah?"

"He says he's my ex-boyfriend."

"I don't recognize him."

"Neither do I."

"Well, you know," Mercedes said with a sly wink. "That's the hard part of being a Raisins girl."

"What's that?"

"Every boy wants to think you're his girlfriend."

"Eh," Lexus shrugged. "Whatever. It's not like he's going to start stalking me or anything. Besides, he might give me a big tip."

----

The next day, Butters was back in Raisins, sitting at the same table (he wanted to make sure he was in Lexus's section).

"Hey Lexus!" he said brightly when she came over to his table. Lexus sighed inwardly.

"Ready to order, hon?" she responded, giving him her perkiest smile, thinking he'd better give her a damn good tip.

----

"Looks like your little boyfriend is back," Mercedes teased, nodding to the little blonde boy in the back corner. Butters had come in every single day that month. Lexus was beginning to get exasperated. But she took a deep breath, and strolled over to the table, swinging her hips.

"Welcome to Raisins, sweetie," she cooed. "Today's specials are –"

"Lexus," Butters interrupted her in a husky voice. "I want to ask you something."

"What's that sweetie," Lexus asked, her voice tinged with impatience.

"Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Hon, you know I can't date customers, it's against –" Suddenly Butters stood up and grabbed her hands.

"I know we can make it," he said, gazing into her eyes. "Our love is strong enough. I have to go now, but I'll see you tomorrow, my love." And with that, he dashed out the door.

"God dammit!" Lexus angrily stomped the ground, startling the boys at a nearby table. "Oh, sorry guys," she covered quickly, regaining her Raisins voice and mannerisms. "Can I get you anything?" Inside she was fuming. She did not have the time to deal with clingy, disillusioned customers!

----

"You're going to have to go over there at some point," Mercedes reminded her. Once again, Butters had taken up residence in his corner. Another month had passed, and he still thought Lexus was his girlfriend. Lately, he'd taken to showing up with flowers and chocolates, which Mercedes cooed over (which only served to annoy Lexus more).

"I'm going to do something about this," she shot back, her voice tight.

"What?" Mercedes asked in a sing-song voice, enjoying the show.

"I don't know. Something!"

Lexus knew that she should just accept that this was one of the difficulties of being a Raisins girl. Boys were going to fall in love with you. It had happened before, and it would happen again. But this boy… Lexus just couldn't take it anymore. He was so needy. He was _so_ in love with her. It was kind of sad. And maybe, in the deepest depths of her heart, Lexus felt kind of bad for him (although she would never admit it). He really did like her. But she couldn't even remember his name. And she never agreed to be his girlfriend!

And that little, human part of her told her that he deserved someone who actually cared for him. God dammit! Where was that coming from? She was a Raisins girl, taught to play men, and take them for all they were worth. She couldn't actually care about them or their feelings.

She puzzled over it for a long moment. Why was this kid so persistent? He just couldn't take a hint. And she couldn't just be mean to him, that was against Raisins rules – they had to flirt with all the customers. She could say he was harassing her and have him thrown out, but then he might tell his little friends and Raisins might lose business. No, Lexus was going to have to deal with him herself. She walked - no, stormed – over to the corner table where he sat by himself. He was singing under his breath.

"Loo loo loo, I've got some apples. Loo, loo, loo, you've got some – Oh, hey Lexus!" he beamed up at her. Lexus slapped her palm down on the table and leaned close to him, narrowing her eyes. Butters could tell she meant business.

"Look, kid," she practically hissed. "I'll make a deal with you."

"Whatever you want, Lexus darling." Her face twitched when he called her darling.

"Ok, here's the deal: If you promise to never, ever, _ever_, EVER speak to me again," she took a deep breath. "I'll give you a blow job in the bathroom." There was a long silence. Butters looked up at Lexus, wringing his hands.

"Golly, Lexus, shouldn't we get married first?"

A/N: I LOVE Butters. He is definitely one of my favorite characters, if not my favorite. Poor, naive little Butters. The world is just out to get him. But I still love him! Please review!


	5. The Burden of Being Number 3: KennyRed

A/N: Warning! Crack pairing! I have no idea where I got the idea for these two, but in a weird way they make sense to me.

Title: The Burden of Being Number Three

Pairing: Kenny/Red

Age: High School

Kenny walked through the park alone, hood drawn up over his face, kicking a stray pinecone. He told himself that he was used to being ditched. He was always being ditched by the other boys.

Today was no different. Cartman had gone home to plot his latest plan to take over the world, and Stan and Kyle had decided to go see some play together (they told Kenny that they were really sorry but they only had two tickets). Those two were so gay sometimes. Kenny wondered why they didn't just give up the act and go do each other already.

Kenny told himself that he didn't want to go to some gay play anyway, but it still stung a bit. He understood that Stan and Kyle were Super Best Friends, that they were inseparable, but that didn't mean they always had to leave him out.

It was hard being the Number Three Friend. Two people were always closer, and the third usually got left out. Kenny hated being Number Three. He knew Stan and Kyle cared about him, and that they were good friends, but they would always put each other first.

He supposed that he could always go over to Cartman's; Cartman was the closest thing he had to a best friend, but he didn't quite feel like being a part of his latest scheme. It would most likely entail him suffering a painful and unnecessary death.

He came upon Starks Pond. He stopped and looked out over the water. It was peaceful here. He wasn't sure if he liked that. It was nice, sure, but it was awfully boring. It seemed very … empty. And lonely.

God dammit. He needed to stop thinking like that. He decided long ago that if he ever went through some demented Goth phase like Stan he was going to shoot himself (not that it would do much good).

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. There was a girl standing on the edge of the pond, skipping rocks across the water. He could see her flaming red hair from a mile away. He decided, what the hell, he might as well go talk to her. There was no one else to talk to.

"Hey Red," he called, walking towards her. She looked up, just as she was about to throw another rock.

"Oh, hey Kenny," she smiled back at him. There was an awkward silence. They really didn't know each other all that well. All Kenny really knew about her was that she was friends with Wendy and Bebe.

"So, what's up with you?" he asked, attempting conversation.

"Nothing really," she responded, tucking an errant strand of brilliant red hair behind her ear. "Wendy and Bebe are in Denver for the weekend so I'm kind of all by myself."

"They didn't take you too?"

"No," Red sighed. He could tell by her tone that this type of thing happened a lot. "Bebe's dad went down there for business and he took her because she wanted to do some shopping. And God forbid she have to shop by herself, so she brought Wendy along." She laughed hollowly.

"That sucks," Kenny said with genuine sympathy.

"Eh, whatever," she responded with a shrug. "I'm used to it."

"I know exactly what you mean." He gave her a wry smile. She was actually very pretty. Kenny had never noticed that before. (And Kenny noticed everything about anyone of the female gender.) She wasn't quite as pretty as Wendy or Bebe, but she was very pretty nonetheless.

"Stan and Kyle out doing something?" she asked. Kenny nodded. "Have they come out of the closet yet?" That made Kenny laugh. While the whole town knew that Stan and Kyle were totally in love with each other, few were that pointed about it.

"Not yet, but I swear, give them a few beers, and they'll be all over each other." Red smiled.

"Too bad, Kyle has such a sweet ass," she said off-handedly. Kenny gave her a strange look, few girls were this candid with him. "Don't worry, yours is nice too," she assured him in a teasing voice, misinterpreting his look.

They stood there for a long moment, looking out over the pond. There was an unspoken understanding between them.

Suddenly, Kenny bent down and picked up a rock.

"I bet I could skip this farther that you can," he challenged with a smile.

"You're on!" she smiled back, grabbing a rock of her own. Kenny watched as she skipped it impressively far.

It was nice to have found someone who understood the burden of being Number Three.

A/N: Yeaahhhh, this is probably the worst of the ones I've done so far. But I got the idea in my head and I just had to write it down. Besides, I think most people understand what it's like to be Number Three. (I certainly do. And it totally sucks ass.) But anyway, as strange as this pairing is, I really like it. Please review!


	6. Nausea: StanWendy

Title: Nausea 

Pairing: Stan/Wendy

Age: 8

Stan was absolutely certain (well, as certain as an eight year old can be) that Wendy Testaburger was the love of his life. She was utterly perfect. She was smart, and ambitious, and absolutely beautiful. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. She _was_ everything to him.

Stan had tried on many occasions to explain his love to his friends, but they just didn't understand. Kyle just told him that he watched too many sappy '80s teen movies.

Kenny told him to just go lick her pussy already. Stan was utterly repulsed by this idea. He wasn't about to go lick her cat! That was just disgusting.

Cartman just told him he was a fag. Stan thought that was kind of stupid because the whole point was that he loved Wendy and was therefore not a fag. When he tried to explain this to Cartman, the fat asshole just told Stan to go screw himself, he was going home.

So Stan's friends were no help at all.

Next he went to his parents for advice. They proved even less helpful. His father just went on and on about how he fell in love with Stan's mother. His mother kept blushing and saying, "Oh, Randy, stop! That was a long time ago." And then they went upstairs.

Stan had to turn up the TV very loudly to block out the noises coming from their bedroom.

His last resort was his sister Shelly. Her advice was short and to the point:

"Just ask her out already, turd!"

If only it was that simple.

His only problem was that he couldn't exactly talk to her. At least, not without feeling sick.

It wasn't the kind of nausea you get with the flu. It wasn't even the kind of nausea that you get after eating a box and a half of doughnuts. It was the kind of nervous, sweaty-palmed nausea that he just couldn't fight. He just wished there was some magical Pepto Bismol tablet for lovesickness.

----

"Stan! Are you going to throw the ball or not?" Kyle called to him impatiently.

Stan wasn't even paying attention. Their game of catch, the excitement of recess, even the bite of the cold air were all forgotten, because he had spotted her.

She was sitting on the jungle gym, talking to Bebe and Red. Stan sighed dreamily, wishing he could just go up to her and sweep her off her feet.

"EY! Faggot!" Cartman yelled at him. "Throw the god damn ball!"

Stan watched the way her silky black hair blew in the wind, the way her eyes lit up when she talked.

"God dammit," Kyle muttered, kicking the snow irritably. "He does this every recess."

"Hold on," Cartman said, marching over to where Clyde and Craig were playing basketball. He grabbed the ball right out of Clyde's hands.

"Hey!" Clyde cried. Craig glared and flipped him off.

"Yeah, yeah," Cartman responded rolling his eyes. "I just need it for a second."

He marched back over to where Kyle and Kenny were standing. Kyle instinctively knew what he was up to.

"Don't do it Cartman!" he warned, narrowing his eyes.

"Relax, I'm just going to get his attention."

"Cartman!"

"Would you shut up, you stupid Jew!" Cartman glared at him. "Leave your little Jew-ethics out of this!"

Stan was incredibly impressed by Wendy's superior intellect. She always knew the answers in class, _and_ her clothes always matched. How could one woman do so much?

He was too busy pondering her endless good qualities to notice basketball coming straight for his head. The next thing he knew, everything went black.

"Stan! Stan are you okay?"

Stan's vision cleared to find Wendy kneeling over him, looking concerned. He could also see Cartman standing a few feet behind her, laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"That wasn't funny, fatass!" Kyle yelled. "What if you gave him a concussion?"

Stan's head was throbbing, but he really didn't care, because his angel Wendy had come to his side.

"Cartman hit you really hard," she said, worry etched into her face. Stan's heart was pounding. She _cared_ about him. She wanted to know if he was okay! He opened his mouth to reply. Suddenly, an all too familiar wave of nausea hit him. "Stan? Are you going to be okay? You look sick…"

He desperately tried to hold it in. But she was so close to him. She was standing there, concerned for him, caring for him. His heart was nearly bursting. If only he could just tell her how he felt…

"Stan?" She was leaning closer now. "Do you need to go to the nurse?

"Blecchhh!"

The nausea had won out. Stan sat up sheepishly, wiping the corners of his mouth.

"Ew! Stan!" She wiped a particularly meaty chunk off her cheek. "That's gross!"

Stan could hear Cartman laughing even harder now. But he didn't even care, because Wendy was still there sitting next to him.

He was mostly surprised that she didn't run away. Any normal girl would have run if a boy puked on her. But Wendy wasn't just normal, she was amazing, she was absolutely perfect. And there she was sitting next to him, attempting to pick little chunks of puke out of her hair.

God, she was beautiful.

A/N: Awww lovesick (literally haha) Stan! I know this isn't that popular of a pairing but it is/was cannon so I figured I'd throw it in for good measure. And I'm sorry if I spelled Wendy's last name wrong. And what Kenny tells Stan in the beginning is actually based on something in an episode (I don't remember which one.) Stan's talking about Wendy and Kenny says something that includes "pussy" (I'm not sure what exactly) and Stan asks him how he knows Wendy has a cat. It's pretty hilarious. (Kenny being inappropriate always is.) Please review! (Seriously, I need/love feedback.)

And a super big thank you to all of you who have reviewed! I love you guys!


	7. Blind: StanKyle

Title: Blind 

Pairings: Stan/Kyle, Stan/Wendy

Age: High School

Kyle sighed and rested his chin on his hands, watching Stan pace frantically across the room.

"I don't know what to do, Kyle!" Stan gave him a pleading look. Kyle flopped back on the bed, clearly exasperated. He had listened to Stan's whining for hours.

"How the hell should I know?"

"Kyle!" Stan's voice cracked a little. "This is really important!" Stan looked away, cheeks coloring. "I really like her," he finished softly. He sank down to sit on the end of the bed.

That was half the reason Kyle was so annoyed. Stan spent all his time obsessing about _her_. Kyle didn't mean to get jealous. He knew Stan loved her.

"I know," Kyle said flatly. "Everyone knows."

"Yeah," Stan sighed, deflating a little. "Everyone but her." He laid back on the bed so he was next to his friend. He turned over to face Kyle. "Please help me." He gave the red head his best puppy-dog look.

Kyle opened his mouth to make a sarcastic response, but when he turned he found Stan's face barely an inch from his own. His breath caught in his throat. He was painfully aware of how close they were to each other. His stomach fluttered. His heart beat faster. He sat up quickly to cover the blush that was creeping up his cheeks. What the hell was he thinking? Stan was in love with Wendy. Stan would always be in love with Wendy. He would never be able to see how Kyle felt about him. He was too oblivious.

Kyle looked back over his shoulder. Stan was still giving him puppy-dog eyes. He smiled a little bitterly. Of course he wanted to help Stan. He wanted Stan to be happy. Even if it hurt him in the process.

"Okay, okay," Kyle conceded. "But how am I supposed to help you?" Stan gave him a wide-eyed look.

"I don't know! Don't you know? All the girls like you!" Stan said, a little panicky.

"Calm down, Stan," Kyle responded, smiling lightly. Stan always got so worked up about things. "The girls only like my ass."

"Well, it is a nice ass," Stan commented thoughtfully. Kyle gave him a funny look.

"What?" Stan asked, utterly oblivious.

"Nothing."

Kyle looked away. _Why do you do these things to me Stan?_

"Seriously dude, why don't you get a girlfriend?" Stan asked, resting the back of his head on his hands. "Even Bebe wants to do you."

"Let's get back to your problem," Kyle shot back, a bit defensively, still looking at Stan.

"Oh yeah," Stan said. "It's just, I don't know. I just don't see how she could be so blind." Kyle snorted. "I'm always there for her. I always listen to her. I'd do anything for her. I _do_ do anything for her."

"You also threw up on her until we were about thirteen," Kyle reminded him.

"Still," Stan continued, "You'd think she would have noticed by now. She's not dumb-"

"Just blind." Kyle finished for him. Stan was utterly oblivious to the bitterness that tinged Kyle's voice.

"Well, yeah."

There was a long pause. Stan stared at the ceiling while Kyle stared at the floor. Kyle sighed deeply. At least he could kind of appreciate the irony.

"So will you help me?" Stan asked quietly. "Will you talk to her or something?"

Kyle shot his best friend a winning smile. Stan couldn't even tell how forced it was.

"Of course I will."

Kyle's hear sank a little, but it was what he had to do. Stan was his best friend. He wanted him to be happy.

_Why do you do this to me Stan? Why are you so blind?_

A/N: Please review!


	8. Dodgeball: ClydeTweek

Title: Dodgeball 

Pairing: Clyde/Tweek

Age: 8-9

It had all started with a simply, friendly recess game of dodgeball. All the boys had joined in to play. They were laughing and running are only little boys do. Even Tweek, who usually didn't like team sports (he wasn't very coordinated and he spazzed out a little too much) joined in. He stood next to Clyde, shaking and twitching the whole time, looking to his friend for reassurance.

"GAH! Clyde, are you sure this is a good idea?" he kept asking, tugging at his hair. Clyde just nodded and tried to play the game.

It was actually going very well. They were all playing together, having a good time, and actually getting along for once. That is, until Kyle got Cartman out.

Kyle, despite being a Jew, had a good arm, and he aimed the ball square at Cartman's enormous gut (which actually wasn't hard to miss). All the boys watched as the ball glided through the air, as if in slow motion, and collided with Cartman's side. His fat rippled as the ball slammed into him. For a moment everyone stopped and stared.

There was absolute silence, their game forgotten.

Cartman wasn't injured (he had enough fat layers to protect his vital organs), but his ego was badly bruised.

"Ey! You goddamn Jew! You cheated!" he yelled, pointed at Kyle.

"I got you fair and square fatass!" Kyle yelled back defensively. "You're out!" Cartman colored in rage.

"I. Hate. You. You. Goddamn. Jew!" he said through clenched teeth, picking up the forgotten ball and hurling it at him.

Kyle was blessed with quick reflexes and he leapt out of the way just in time. Unfortunately, Clyde, who was standing behind him, was not so lucky. The ball hit poor Clyde square in the face, bounced off him, and hit Kenny. Clyde yelped and grabbed his nose, which was now spurting out blood. Kenny lost his balance, tripped and fell underneath the teeter-totter where he was promptly crushed to death when the kid on the teeter-totter came back down.

All the boys stopped and stared for a moment, and then quickly evacuated the premises. If Principal Victoria found out they killed Kenny (again) she'd probably give them detentions for a week.

In an instant, only Clyde and Tweek were left. And, because Clyde was a crybaby and Tweek tended to overreact, Clyde began to sob and wail like it was the end of the world, and Tweek began to run around frantically pulling at his hair.

"GAH! Clyde!" Tweek screamed, staring at his friend in horror. "You're going to die!" Clyde's sobbing died down to faint sniffling. His nose had sort of stopped bleeding but an angry purple bruise was already beginning to form on his cheek.

"I want my mommy," he sniffled.

"Jesus Christ, don't die Clyde!" Tweek pleaded.

"It hurts," Clyde whimpered.

"GAH! What do I do? Jesus Christ! This is WAY too much pressure!" Tweek started running around in circles, tugging at his hair.

"When I'm hurt my mommy always kisses my boo-boo to make it all better," Clyde murmured, mostly to himself.

"Okay, okay," Tweek said. "Just don't die!" He quickly leaned down and gave Clyde a peck on the cheek. There was a moment of silence. Clyde stopped crying entirely and looked up at Tweek, a little confused.

"Um, thanks?" he said, blushing a little. Tweek studied him closely.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed suddenly. "What if I catch it? GAH! What if I die too?" He took off running towards the nurses office.

"Wait!" Clyde called after him. "Tweek! You can't catch a bruise!"

Tweek stopped in his tracks.

"So I-I'm not going to die?" he asked.

"Right."

"And you're not going to die?"

"Yeah."

Tweek stood there for a moment fidgeting.

"D-do you have any other bruises that I need to make better?"

A/N: I know this was really random. And sorry for making Clyde such a wimpy cry-baby but I'm with him on this one. Being hit in the face with a dodgeball hurts like a bitch. Please review!


	9. Duh: CartmanWendy

Title: Duh 

Pairing: Wendy/Cartman

Age: High School

Bebe was sitting on her bed, idly flipping through the pages of the latest issue of Cosmo when Wendy burst through the door. Bebe looked up calmly, wondering what it was this time. Whenever Wendy got particularly worked up about something, she always bust into Bebe's room looking for a sympathetic ear. And always when Bebe was reading a really good Cosmo article.

"Bebe, you've got to help me," Wendy said desperately. "Something is really, really wrong."

Wendy certainly did look frazzled. Her shiny black hair, usually immaculately groomed, was wild and frizzy. Her clothes were rumpled and there were dark bags under her eyes.

"I haven't been able to sleep. I haven't been able to eat. I haven't even been able to think straight!" Wendy moaned. Bebe put down the magazine and sat up cross-legged on the bed. Perhaps Wendy's problems were more interesting than Cosmo at the moment.

"What's wrong?" Bebe asked, genuinely concerned.

"What is the worst thing that could have possibly happened?"

Bebe thought a moment.

"You were deposed as class president?

"Worse."

"You didn't get into Harvard?"

"Worse.

"A meteor is heading for the earth and we're all doomed to a fiery demise?

"Worse!"

"Rob Schneider has a new movie coming out?"

"No!" Wendy almost shrieked. "_Way_ worse than that!"

Bebe gave her friend a confused look.

"What's worse than an impending apocalypse or Rob Schneider?"

Wendy was very quiet. She looked down, not meeting Bebe's intent gaze.

"I think…" She gulped audibly. "I think I might…" Bebe waited patiently. "IthinkImightbeinlovewithCartman!" Wendy finally exclaimed, all in one breath. Bebe looked at her like she had just grown another head. There was a long pause.

"Well, duh Wendy."

Wendy looked absolutely apoplectic.

"What do you mean '_well, duh_'!" she cried, absolutely horrified. "Cartman is fat and annoying and cruel and EVIL! He killed a kid's parents!"

"Technically –" Bebe began, but Wendy simply continued to rant.

"I like nice guys like Stan and Token. I like nice, normal guys. I –"

Bebe held up a perfectly manicured hand for silence.

"Wendy," she said practically, "You're in denial."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M IN DENIAL?!"

Bebe continued calmly.

"You may think that you like nice, normal guys, but deep down, that's the last thing you want," Bebe explained. She had read enough Cosmo to be sure she knew what she was talking about. "You like getting your way, don't you?"

Wendy nodded silently, looking glum.

"Well, nice guys are always gonna let you have your way. But that's not what you _really_ want. You do want your way in the end, but you don't want it just given to you. You want to have to fight for it. That way it's more satisfying."

"That's completely ridiculous –"

"Cartman doesn't let you have your way. He'll challenge you and fight you until he can't fight anymore. You love that he won't back down until he gets what he wants. Because that's how you are too."

"But it's Cartman!" Wendy protested.

Bebe shrugged.

"You can't really choose who you fall in love with."

"Well what am I supposed to do? How do I stop?"

Bebe rolled her eyes.

"You can't just stop being in love with someone."

"Says who?"

"Says every issue of Cosmo ever printed!" Bebe said as if that was obvious.

Wendy furrowed her brow, thinking hard.

"Ok, remember when I liked him for like a week in third grade?" she said after a moment.

"Yeah."

"Well then you said that I should just kiss him and get it out of my system and it worked. It was just an infatuation. Why wouldn't that work this time?"

Bebe folded her hands.

"We were in third grade. That's totally different. Besides, that didn't really solve anything. Your feelings just went dormant for awhile. You never really stopped liking him, and now you've fallen in love with him. You can't just kiss him and get it out of your system anymore."

Wendy put her face in her hands.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" she moaned. Bebe picked up the Cosmo again and began to flip through it.

"I don't know why you think it's such a bad thing," she commented, sniffing one of the perfume samples in the magazine. "I bet you two would have really hot sex."

Wendy gave her a disgusted look.

"God, you're starting to sound like Kenny."

Bebe shrugged.

"It's true, though. I bet that would be some kinky stuff." Wendy shivered.

"Ew! That's disgusting."

"Hey, if you ever need to borrow my copy of the Kama Sutra, just ask," Bebe supplied nonchalantly. Wendy gave her a withering look.

"You're not helping."

"Just think about it," Bebe said, "You two would make one hell of a team. You guys could own the world."

"He'd probably just start another Holocaust."

Bebe shrugged. "Well at least he has goals. That's more than I can say for most guys our age."

Wendy sighed helplessly.

"Why does he have to be so goddamn charming?" she said wistfully. "When he's yelling and screaming and threatening people it's just so… attractive." She paused and seemed to come to her senses. "God dammit! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Love works in mysterious ways," Bebe said sagely, turning the page in the magazine. "Don't fight it."

Wendy pursed her lips in thought

"Well, I should probably get going," she said after a moment.

"Where?"

"Well first I have to go to the store and pick up some double stuff oreos. And then to Cartman's," she said sheepishly. "We got assigned to work together on this history project."

Bebe gave her friend a sly smile.

"Okay, have fun," she teased. Wendy shot her a withering look and gathered up her things.

She was halfway out the door when suddenly she turned around.

"What?" Bebe asked, puzzled. Wendy fidgeted a bit. Bebe raised her delicately shaped eyebrows.

"Um, could I maybe borrow your Kama Sutra?"

A/N: Sorry these last few have been kind of crappy. I've been super stressed lately. Physics is totally kicking my ass. I just don't get it at all. Well maybe you could leave me some reviews to make me feel better? ;)


	10. How to Tell Her: StanKyle

Title: How to Tell Her 

Pairing: Stan/Kyle

Age: High School

Kyle had always meant to tell his mother about him and Stan. He really did. He told himself that he wasn't afraid. He knew she'd love him no matter what. She was his mom, she had to, right? Right?

"You really need to tell her," Stan said seriously, gazing at the red-head intently.

"I know!" Kyle snapped. "I just haven't had the right opportunity."

Stan snorted.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Kyle cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Just come home from school one day and say, 'Hi mom, guess what, I'm gay and Stan is my gay lover'?"

Stan wrinkled his nose.

"Don't say gay lover, that sounds creepy."

Kyle shot Stan an exasperated look.

"I can't say any of it! My mom would flip shit!"

Stan shrugged.

"My parents handled it okay."

Well, sort of.

Stan's mom had been fine. She'd just given him a hug and told him she loved him no matter what (like a good mom was supposed to).

Stan's dad, on the other hand, had gone into cardiac arrest. But, when he woke up in the hospital a week later after bypass surgery, he assured Stan that he was always his boy. So, everything had worked out in the end.

"You know what she'll do," Kyle said sullenly. "She'll probably start some gay appreciation day or something. That's almost worse than her freaking out."

"Well, you're going to have to tell her at some point. You can't spend your whole life living a lie."

Kyle's face brightened up.

"That's it!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I just won't tell her and I'll spend my whole life lying to her and sneaking behind her back! It will be perfect!"

"Kyle!" Stan admonished.

"Okay, _fine_," Kyle muttered, looking fairly put-out. "Then what do you suggest?"

This time, Stan's face lit up. He gave Kyle a rather disturbing smile.

"Stan?"

Stan grabbed Kyle's hand and led him out of the room.

"Stan, what are you doing? Where are we going?"

The dark-haired boy just gave him another creepy smile. He led the struggling Jew downstairs and into the kitchen where Mrs. Broflovski was making dinner (kosher hot dogs and latkas).

"Mrs. Broflovski!" Stan began proudly. Kyle was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Stan was still holding his hand. "I would like to tell you that I am in love with your son!" Stan declared.

The look of shock on Kyle's face mirrored that of his mother's.

And with that, Stan frenched Kyle right there in the middle of the kitchen, in front of his mother. And suddenly, Kyle wasn't so worried about how to tell her anymore.

A/N: Sorry that there's so many Stan/Kyle drabbles, I really am trying to go for variety, I just have so many Stan/Kyle ideas. Please review! (Pretty please!)


	11. The Morning After: KennyBebe

Title: The Morning After 

Pairing: Kenny/Bebe

Age: Early 20s

Kenny woke up to the smell of cooking pancakes. He stretched and nuzzled back into his pillow. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Something was very, very wrong. He sat up rigidly.

The room he was in was saturated in pink – pink walls, pink bedspread, pink carpet, pink sheets. The walls were covered in posters of teen idols. Morning sunlight poured in through the window (framed with pink curtains). Alarm bells were going off in Kenny's head.

He looked up to find an amused looking Bebe leaning in the doorway, clad in his shirt and a pair of pink plaid pajama bottoms.

"I'm surprised you're still here," she said wryly. "You always struck me as a fuck-and-run sort of guy."

"I am," he assured her, jumping out of the bed. He realized too late that he was completely naked. He quickly pulled a blanket off the bed to cover himself. She chuckled.

"There are pancakes downstairs if you want any." She turned to go.

"Wait!" Kenny called. "You're wearing my shirt!"

----

Kenny got the hell out of that house as fast as possible. What was wrong with him? He followed a strict protocol – always be gone before the girl wakes up. Otherwise, the morning after was just too awkward.

The girls would always beg Kenny to stay and give them more wonderfully back breaking sex. It wasn't his fault he was so good at it.

He supposed he could forgive himself for one mistake, and it _was_ Bebe. She was damn _hot_. He'd wanted to do her since they were kids. She was that one girl who always alluded him. The one girl he never got.

He just got carried away with himself, that was all. It had been so long since they'd seen each other. And there she was, sitting in that bar, as beautiful as ever. And for once, she actually seemed interested. He was just so caught up in his old high school fantasies that he'd lost track of time. That had to be it. Right? Right?

He made a mental note to set his watch alarm for his next one night stand. He was not going to go through this embarrassment again.

He was so lost in thought he didn't even notice the truck barreling down the road until it was too late.

----

Bebe sat at her kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. She wasn't surprised by Kenny's actions. She'd practically expected it. He was just another man running for commitment.

Bebe had learned long ago that no one would ever take her seriously. All they saw was a big-boobed blonde. She had learned to accept it, to use it to her advantage. She learned to stop caring when a guy never called. She learned not to get attached. She stared out the window and sighed.

But there was something about that Kenny McCormick…

Suddenly, she heard a screech and crash. She jumped, nearly dropping her coffee, and ran to the door.

----

When Kenny came to, he opened his eyes to find an all-too- familiar pink ceiling looming above him. He shut his eyes and opened them again, hoping it was just his imagination.

No such luck.

He sat up slowly. Bebe was standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

"I had to scrape you off the pavement, I hope you know," she said wryly.

"What happened?" Kenny asked groggily.

"You died," she supplied simply.

"I know that," he snapped. "How, exactly?"

"You got hit by a truck."

Kenny could detect a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

"What kind of truck?" he asked, almost dreading the answer.

"An ice cream truck," Bebe responded, barely containing her laughter.

Kenny groaned and sank back down onto the bed.

"There's still some pancakes," Bebe said all-too cheerily, flouncing out of the room.

Kenny pulled the jarringly pink sheets over his face, this was just too awkwardly embarrassing.

But the smell of pancakes drifted into the room, tempting him. His stomach growled. God damn his fabulous calorie-burning sex. That's why he was so God damn hungry all the time.

He grudgingly made his way to the kitchen table. Bebe was already seated there, dousing her pancakes in sticky syrup.

Kenny dug in rather unceremoniously. Bebe smiled at him, mouth stuffed with pancake.

Kenny smiled back.

Perhaps the morning after wasn't so bad after all.

A/N: gehhh. Don't like this one so much. Please review!


	12. What's it Like?: KennyKyle

Title: What's it Like?

Pairing: Kenny/Kyle

Age: Teens

"What's it like, Kenny?"

The question caught Kenny off-guard, and he nearly choked on his pizza. (He had been shoving it in his mouth rather unceremoniously.)

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice muffled by his hood and mouth full of pizza.

"Dying," Kyle said simply, green eyes gazing at Kenny intently. It was just the two of them today, sitting in a corner booth in Whistlin' Willies. Stan was off at football, and Cartman was (once again) trying to come up with a plan to make _one million _dollars.

Kenny gave Kyle a long look. No one had ever asked him that before. He figured people just didn't notice, or they thought it would be impolite to ask. And besides, he'd never really thought about it himself. He thought for a moment. It was certainly a deep question.

"I don't know," was his profound answer.

But that would not satisfy the curious Jew. Kyle frown, forehead creasing.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "What's it like?"

Now that he thought about it, Kenny found it strange that no one had asked him that before. It was just common curiosity. But then again, Stan was probably afraid to find out because, well, he was kind of a pussy like that. And Cartman was probably eventually going to try to find some way to achieve immortality, so he didn't really care.

"Why do you want to know?" Kenny asked.

The red-head shrugged.

"I don't know. I was just wondering, I guess."

Kenny thought for another long moment and decided, what the hell, he might as well tell Kyle the truth.

"Well," he began. "I guess it's not really that bad."

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Well, the actual dying part sucks," Kenny clarified. "It generally hurts like a bitch. But I guess that just depends on how you go. Just try not to get hit by a UFO, that sucks the worst, believe me."

Kyle chuckled.

"But being dead isn't all that bad. You only go to Heaven if you're Mormon, but that's okay, because Heaven's kind of annoying anyway. All the Mormons try to get you to do arts and crafts. The angels are pretty funny, though. They're always high on Expo markers." Kenny smiled fondly at the memory. "Hell is pretty interesting. There's luaus and beach-front condos and Starbucks and stuff like that. And Satan' pretty cool I guess. He likes me 'cuz I helped him break up with Saddam Hussein once."

Kyle was laughing now, which puzzled Kenny.

"What?" Kenny asked, confused by Kyle's reaction.

"If you don't want to tell me, you can just say so," he said smiling wryly.

Oh. Kyle didn't believe him. Oh well, he'd find out some day. Kenny smiled and played it off.

"Seriously though," Kenny asked, once Kyle's laughter had died down. "Why do you want to know?"

Kyle shrugged again.

"I guess I was just wondering what happens to you when you're gone."

"Well don't worry, it's not all that bad."

Kyle looked at him with big eyes, as green as his hat.

"I just wish you weren't gone so long sometimes," he said, quite seriously. "I miss you."

Kenny smiled, touched by his friends words. No one ever told him they missed him while he was dead.

"I miss you too."

A/N: Please review!


	13. Bonnie & Clyde: CraigClyde

Title: Bonnie & Clyde 

Pairing: Craig/Clyde

Age: Teens – 20s I guess

"Craig, I really don't think this is a good idea," Clyde said nervously, pulling down on his leather skirt.

Craig had a penchant for fleeting obsessions, fetishes if you will. For a week, he would become utterly obsessed with something, and then in an instant he would move on. Clyde, unfortunately, was the one who had to deal with Craig's capricious obsessions. And lately, Craig had become interested in some pretty kinky stuff. Role-play, to be specific.

"You have to call me Clyde," Craig insisted.

"But _I'm_ Clyde," Clyde protested, still tugging at the skirt. (It was so damn uncomfortable! How did girls wear these things?)

"No," Craig said, "You're Bonnie."

"Why do I have to be the girl?" Clyde whined.

"Because," Craig responded simply, "You're the bitch."

"I am _not_ the bitch," Clyde said flatly. Craig raised an eyebrow.

"Can we please just get on with this?" he asked impatiently. He wanted his kinky sex, Goddammit!

"Not until you admit I'm not the bitch."

"You're the one wearing the skirt," Craig pointed out.

"Because you _made_ me!"

"My point exactly."

"Craig!"

"No, I'm Clyde now, remember."

"Goddammit, _I_ am Clyde!"

"No, you're Bonnie. That's why you're wearing the skirt. Didn't we just go over this?"

"But it's my name! You can't just take my name!"

Craig gave Clyde an exasperated look.

"You're Bonnie, I'm Clyde. Can we _please_ just get on with the sex now?"

A/N: Sorry if this has been done before. And sorry it's so short. Please review!


	14. Karma's a Bitch: GregoryMole

Title: Karma's a Bitch 

A/N: ok I posted this separately but for some reason I felt like including it here too. I know it's not romantic but its still about the relationship between two people. So…. Iono. Just read please

Gregory had to appreciate the irony of the situation. All of those years he had protested doing field work for exactly this reason. And yet, here he was, hanging from a tree by his ankles, a smug looking Mole standing before him. The Mole blew a puff of cigarette smoke into his face, giving him a twisted smile.

They weren't exactly friends anymore, not that they ever were. But at least when they were younger they were able to work together (relatively) civilly. But everything had changed after the Canadian-American war.

The Mole didn't exactly forgive easily. And he didn't take his death very well. He blamed Gregory for getting him into the whole thing. He felt that Gregory hadn't exactly done his part. And the Mole was very bitter. When he finally returned, the first thing he did was spit in Gregory's face and declare his resignation. He was now a free-lance mercenary. He no longer did Gregory's bidding.

At first, Gregory had only been a bit miffed. The Mole _was_ his best operative, but he could go on. It wasn't until later that Gregory realized how much he relied on the Mole. He ended up doing most things himself. And he really didn't enjoy that. He was the leader, the commander, the tactician, not the field man. His life, his superior intellect was far too important to throw into needless danger. But, if he wanted to get things done, he had to do them himself.

And that was how he found himself in this ridiculous situation. And that was how he found the Mole.

After he'd penetrated the extensive security system around the complex, he made his way to the holding chamber. There lay his prize. But when he got there, he found the chamber empty. He was apoplectic with rage. No one could have beaten him here! No one was that good. Except…

He heard a click. The cold barrel of a gun was pressed to the side of his head.

"'Ello, Gregory," said a gruff voice. The Mole emerged from the shadows, a darkly amused look played across his face. Gregory looked him up and down. He was dirty as ever. A thick layer of dirty seemed to coat his entire body. Unkempt dark hair fell into his intensely chocolate eyes. His face and arms were covered in bruises and scratches, but such was his work. A smoking cigarette rested between his lips. His ever-present shovel was strapped across his back. A small bag was clutched in his other hand. Gregory's eyes narrowed. That was what we wanted.

"Hello, Mole," Gregory responded, almost cordially. "It's nice to see you again, old chum." The Mole gave a derisive snort.

"Vhat are you do-eeng here?" he asked coldly.

"I believe I came for that," Gregory said, nodding towards the bag the Mole was holding. He nodded carefully, all to aware of the gun pressed against his head. "Now, if you'll please give it to me…"

The Mole gave a throaty laugh.

"You are so full of yourselv," he said harshly. "I do not work vor you anymore."

Gregory met the Mole's eyes calmly. The Mole was a mercenary, but Gregory was confident he would not harm him. All Gregory had to do to attain what he came for would be to work the Mole the right way. Or hit the Mole over the head with his own shovel. Whichever worked out best in the end.

Gregory opened his mouth, an eloquent and persuasive speech on the tip of his tongue. But in that instant, an alarm sounded. Suddenly, the dark hallway was bathed in flashing red light. They could hear the sounds of men yelling and barking dogs nearby.

"Sheet! Sheet!" the Mole exclaimed, withdrawing his revolver from Gregory's head and shoving it back into his belt. He took off tearing down the hall. Gregory had no choice but to run after him.

They dashed out of the complex and into the nearby woods, praying they could find cover there.

As they ran, Gregory was slowly gaining on the Mole. Perhaps if he jumped on his back he could take him down.

Gregory was too preoccupied to even notice where he was going. He didn't even see the rope laid across the forest floor until it was too late. Before he could even blink, he was whipped into the hair, hanging from a tree branch by a rope attached to his ankles. He let out a strangled yelp.

The Mole spun around, hand on his revolver, ready for anything. When he saw Gregory's predicament, he let out a low chuckle. Gregory's cheeks colored from a mixture of embarrassment and rage. He did not appreciate being made a fool of. He could hear the guard dogs barking in the distance. Panic began to rise in his stomach. He had to get down. Fast.

"Mole, get me down," he demanded. The Mole just stood in front of him, arms crossed, looking amused.

"Non," he said wryly, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke into Gregory's face. Gregory coughed.

"I'm serious, Mole," he said, eyes narrowing dangerously. The Mole drew closer, so his face was barely inches from Gregory's

"Non," he repeated gruffly.

"Why the hell not?" Gregory spat, losing his reign on his temper. The Mole simply stared at him for a long moment. A sickeningly twisted look on his face.

"You've never been to 'ell," he said, voice dangerously low.

"Mole, can you please put that behind us!"

But the Mole did not forgive so easily.

"I told you, I fucking 'ate guard dogs," he hissed.

"Look, I'm sorry," Gregory said quickly. The Mole could see that Gregory's eyes were only on the bag he was holding. That's all Gregory ever cared about. Getting what he wanted. He didn't care if people got hurt, as long as he got what he wanted out of it. The Mole was dirty, the Mole was crude, and the Mole was violent, but Gregory was the despicable one. He cried not one tear when the Mole died.

The Mole could see him, as he sat in Hell, being forced into playing tea party with Satan's son. And when the Mole looked up in the midst of his torture, he could see Gregory up there, not caring. Gregory going on with his life, as if nothing had happened. Gregory taking credit for the resolution of the whole war.

The Mole had always looked out for himself and only himself. No one else was going to. Even God was a fucking faggy beetch. But the Mole had expected some scrap of tiny loyalty from Gregory. They were both independent, but they had an understanding. But no, Gregory stood alone. The Mole did all the dirty work, Gregory took all the credit. So the Mole walked away. But Gregory still found him.

Gregory stared at the Mole's unreadable face. He was loosing circulation in his feet. He had to hurry. Why would the Mole help him? He was just as incompetent as ever. He got himself killed by guard dogs for Christ's sake. How had he even survived without Gregory's guidance?

Gregory could hear the shouts of the guards and the barking of the dogs. Searchlights panned across the trees. He struggled a bit against the binding rope. It was hopeless. The Mole had to get him down. But the Mole was just standing there, cigarette pressed between his lips.

A shot rang out. Gregory flinched. The Mole remained impassive. Gregory forgot his pretenses, his ambitions. This was about survival now.

"Christophe…" Gregory pleaded, desperation tinging his voice. He only used the Mole's real name in extreme situations. "You're not really going to leave me here are you?"

The barking of the guard dogs was drawing closer. Panic was growing in Gregory's stomach. Another warning shot was fired nearby. The Mole shrugged his shoulders and took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Karma's a beetch, Gregory," the Mole sneered as he turned and walked away.

A/N: Um. Yeahhhhh. I don't know what that was exactly. Please review! I have a Cartman/Shelly in the works next!


	15. My Brave Little Soldier Boy: GregoryMole

Title: My Brave Little Soldier Boy 

Pairing: Gregory/Mole

Age: teens

Gregory sat patiently on a stump at their rendezvous point, watching the way the grass waved in the breeze. It was quiet here, off in the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, the earth began to shake and the grass swayed more violently. Gregory smiled slightly and folded his hands.

The Mole burst forth from the earth in a shower of dirt clumps, roots and grass. He heaved himself out of the hole and stood up to face Gregory.

Gregory remained seated. He gave the Mole an amused look.

"I've been waiting," he said casually, pursing his lips. The Mole glared at him.

"I fucking 'ate you," he growled. Gregory cocked and eyebrow, giving him an inquisitive look.

"Oh?"

A low growl emitted from the Mole's throat. Gregory was mildly amused, Mole was quite angry this time.

"You told me zere vould be no guard dogs!" the Mole raged, gesticulating wildly with his shovel. "I fucking 'ate guard dogs!" Gregory shrugged.

"I know you can handle it," he countered mildly. He decided to play to the Mole's pride. "You _are_ the best."

The Mole gave him a hard look, but relented. He planted his shovel in the ground with a heavy thrust.

"You are a beetch," he said, attempting to hold on to his anger. He leaned a little on his shovel. Gregory studied him closer.

The Mole really did look worse for the wear. His was even dirtier than usual and his face and arms were covered in scratches and bruises. There were even distinctive bite marks on his pant leg. Gregory felt a small pang of guilt, he was the one who was the cause of all of this. He was the one who sent the Mole on these missions. Gregory sighed. But what could he do? The Mole _was_ the best. He knew how to get the job done.

Gregory laid a hand on a particularly nasty bruise on the Mole's forearm. Strangely, the Mole didn't jerk back from him. (The Mole generally did not appreciate being touched.) He just studied Gregory inquisitive.

"Ice that," Gregory said softly. He looked up. Deep brown eyes met crystal blue ones. They held each other's gaze for a long moment. Suddenly, Gregory turned and pulled away. In an instant he was all business again.

"Did you get the information?" he asked brusquely, folding his arms behind his back. The Mole gave him an annoyed look.

"Yez." He produced a folder of papers and handed them to Gregory.

Gregory rifled through them quickly.

"Vell?" the Mole asked sarcastically. "Eez eet good enough vor you?" Gregory gave him a bare nod.

"Yes." He snapped the folder shut. "Thank you." Gregory was not usually one to say thank you.

The Mole sneered at him.

"You're velcome, zir," he mocked. The Mole was not usually one to call Gregory "sir". The Mole gave him a sloppy salute. With his middle finger.

Gregory responded to the gesture with a taut smile, before turning and walking off.

The Mole stood where he was, leaning on his shovel, puffing at his cigarette.

"Fucking beetch," he muttered under his breath. "I fucking 'ate guard dogs."

Gregory glanced briefly over his shoulder, throwing the Mole an award-winning smile.

"Aren't you just my brave little soldier boy," he called brightly over his shoulder, voice laden with sarcasm. "I'll contact you with you're next mission within the next few days."

He turned and walked off without looking back.

The Mole dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his toe.

"Vell you valk like a fag," he muttered, even though he knew Gregory couldn't hear him. Not that he had been looking at the way Gregory walked. And he definitely hadn't been looking at Gregory's ass. Definitely not.


End file.
